


sub rosa

by touchtheskye



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, secret meetings, skoulsonfest2k16redux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 20:21:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7655419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/touchtheskye/pseuds/touchtheskye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time it happens Coulson honestly doesn’t see it coming.</p>
<p>(Written for the Skoulson RomFest 2k16 Redux. Day 6, prompt: secret meetings.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	sub rosa

The first time it happens Coulson honestly doesn’t see it coming.

He’s trudging back to the rented room, a walkup close to a few Quake sightings. It’s late and his dinner is sitting like a rock. Today was discouraging to say the least - he knows, he has no proof, but he knows that Daisy was here today.

He’s nearly made it to the third floor when he’s attacked, blinded with a bag. He fights hard against his invisible opponent, all elbows and blind swinging. He gets at least one good hit, maybe two in, but his attacker is too strong. Coulson feels a bit of panic start to seep in, redoubling his efforts to escape.

He’s actually making some headway until he’s pinned face-first to the wall by a strange feeling, like a cushion of air buzzing up against his back, and he hears a familiar voice.

“Shit, Coulson,” and she’s laughing. “God, ow.”

Daisy manhandles him into the apartment. It only takes him a moment before he realizes that Mack is nowhere to be found. She must have been surveilling them both somehow.

She’s still laughing at him, giving him a hard time, and for a moment she sounds like Agent Johnson, the leader, the woman before Hive. He would be staring if it weren’t for the bag on his head.

Coulson’s completely bewildered but also the happiest he’s been in months. He stays very still. His hands aren’t tied but he’s not going to touch the bag, he doesn’t want to break whatever this moment is, risk losing her again, risk having her disappear.

“I wish I could see the look on your face,” she sighs, like she’s reading his mind.

“Is the bag really necessary?”

“Oh, you sound muffled, hang on.” Daisy is slipping the bag up, her fingers catching on his stubble, cinching the fabric a little uncomfortably under his nose. “Sorry, precaution. New look. Can’t have you plugging a halfway decent description into that algorithm I made for you guys.”

“Bad haircut?” He’s trying to make her laugh again, but she makes an irritated sound that tells him he’s probably a little too close to the truth.

“Ugh. It’s so bad, Coulson. You don’t understand. I wish I could show you.”

He hears a rustle of fabric, feels something brush against his arm - Daisy lifting the hem of her shirt, checking herself for bruises where he dug his elbow in?

“Are you okay? Did I get you?”

She snorts. “You were fighting for your life. You should have seen it.” He must be tilting his head in a nonplussed sort of way, because her voice turns gentler. “I’m sorry, it isn’t funny. I’m fine. Anyway, it’s my fault, I should have told you it was me.”

“Why-?” He doesn’t know what he’s trying to ask, can’t think of what should come first.

“I needed to see you. I have information.”

“You couldn’t leave a message? You’ve clearly been surveilling us.”

“What, you aren’t happy to see me?”

“Daisy, there’s a bag on my head. I’m not seeing anything.”

“Hilarious. Listen, I couldn’t risk someone else finding out. I feel like Mack is keeping pretty close tabs on you. I don’t want him to know that we’ve been in contact. This has to be between us for now.”

He nods, feeling ridiculous. He’s too old for this. He slides down the wall and sits there in the front hallway next to Daisy Johnson, listening intently as she briefs him on an anti-Inhuman group. She’s seen something that Shield hasn’t.

“How did I come by this information? What should I tell Shield?”

“You’ll think of something.”

Without any warning, Daisy drops a kiss on his lips. Brief, not a goodbye but a see you soon, domestic even.

She’s out the door before he can get the bag off his face. He tries to follow but the hallway is empty, he knows he won’t find her if she doesn’t want to be found.

The next day he starts to worry that he might have dreamed the whole thing, given the state he’s in. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, bedraggled, unshaven, bags under his eyes, coffee stained teeth. God, he looks like his dad. 

He doesn’t tell anybody. Not even Mack.

He finds the bag right where he left it, which is more reassuring than he’d like to admit. He checks the security footage from the stairwell later. There’s nothing, of course. Nothing on the third floor where their meeting took place, nothing on the first two flights of stairs beforehand. Not even footage of him heading out for dinner in the first place. Thorough job, typical Daisy.

The lead pans out. He thinks of something convincing, like she said.

 

 

 

The second time he’s not even looking for her.

He hasn’t caught a glimpse of Daisy for two weeks, but it feels longer. She’s laying low and it worries him. He feels even more of an urgency than usual to keep tabs on her, to find her - to know she’s safe.

For some reason he thought it would be different after that night, after she came to him. That she’d be easier to find, that she’d leave more clues, that he’d see her and get to talk to her like before.

Instead it’s worse. He feels like he’s moving through fog; slow, too slow, she’s always two to five steps ahead of him. He’s sat on so many stakeouts for so long, he feels like time has lost all meaning and reality seems indistinct around the edges.

Mack’s worried about him, that’s for sure. And maybe he should be. The rational part of him, the company man, the guy who used to be the Director of SHIELD, sometimes prickles at the back of his neck. Echoes of Gonzales whispering in his ear, telling him that Daisy has clouded his judgment. He tries not to think about it.

He’s pretty disgruntled about being dragged along to “actual spy work” by Mack, but he’s trying not to show it. Mack’s nervous. It’s an undercover party and he has to take point, security’s everywhere, of course he’s nervous.

Mack’s doing great, though, a real natural. He’s chatting up the target, all charm and that smile - the poor thing never stood a chance. Coulson might as well be invisible with all the attention Mack’s drawing. He’s scanning the crowd when he spots her. He nearly drops his drink.

He signals Mack discreetly, then leaves his drink on a passing tray and tries to get closer. 

It is her. Daisy’s using a less-is-more sort of disguise; she looks older, somehow, something with her eye makeup, and her hair’s shorter. It seems like she hasn’t spotted him yet, he guesses he’s still got that knack for blending with a crowd. He follows her out of the ballroom, admiring the way she sails effortlessly from room to room, sidestepping security and talking her way around interlopers, until she finds what she’s looking for.

It’s in a locked main floor office. He can’t follow her in immediately, has to wait for the coast to be clear. She’s startled when he opens the door, but quickly acknowledges him with a nod and gets back to work on the computer. Their time must be limited.

“Anything I can do?”

“Kill the lights, I’m almost done.” He does as she asks without question, listening momentarily at the door. There are voices down the hall.

“Anything else? They’ll be here any second.” 

“Yup. One sec.” He turns and Daisy is fiddling with a bracelet in the dark - no, it’s a watch. So old school, the classic spy gear. He loves it.

He hears footsteps now. They’re close, too close for a clean getaway. The computer looks untouched, and he knows she won’t leave any evidence. He wonders what the exit plan is.

He’s not left wondering much longer. Daisy slides the watch up her wrist, hops up on the desk, and drags him towards her by the tie.

He kisses her back, what else can he do? Her hands are everywhere, fingernails raking through hair and fingers tugging on clothes, and there’s tongue, oh god.

He doesn’t hear the door. Eventually one of the guards hits the lights and coughs uncomfortably. 

Daisy looks well and truly kissed when he pulls away, her lips swollen and red, hair mussed, a flush spreading over her soft skin. Coulson can only imagine what he must look like, blushing like an idiot with his hair sticking up and lipstick everywhere.

It’s a long, tense moment. Coulson and Daisy play the part of deeply embarrassed lovers caught in the act, avoiding eye contact and saying as little as possible as they straighten their clothes and listen to the lecture about being asked to leave if this happens again.

Security must have been contracted out for this event, because the guards don’t even bother searching them. They’re unceremoniously ushered out and sent back to the main event by way of the powder room so they can “freshen up.” 

By the time he gets back to the ballroom with his hair in place and clothes only slightly rumpled, Daisy’s gone. He spends a few fruitless minutes looking for her before he notices something in his pocket.

A watch. Handsome, but not his.

 

 

 

The third time he’s curled up in bed, nursing his wounds. It’s been a day.

He hears the door creak and figures it’s Mack or Simmons coming to check on him, is surprised when it’s Daisy’s voice that cuts through the dark.

“Can I come in?”

“Of course,” he says, aiming for normal but falling short. He sounds weak and tired, even to himself. He sits up and moves over in the dark, making space on the mattress for her to sit down in the cramped room.

He feels the mattress sink with her weight and a cold glass is pressed into his hand, a few pills dropped wordlessly into his artificial palm. He accepts the water and painkillers gratefully.

There’s a quiet moment punctuated by a few swallows of water. It feels so surreal to have her sitting on the edge of his bed like this.

“How are you feeling?”

“Sore,” he admits. She takes the glass and sets it on his nightstand. “Tired. Old.” He tries to smile but he knows he isn’t selling it. He should know better, she sees right through him.

“Do you want me to go? So you can sleep?”

“No, not if you don’t have to. It’ll take a while for the pills to kick in.”

She stands, kicks her boots off, and then gets under the covers beside him.

He’s too tired, too weak, to listen to the threatening buzz at the base of his skull warning him about compartmentalizing and being compromised. He’s always been compromised, he thinks, the heat of Daisy’s body seeping slowly into his sore muscles. She’s holding him and he hasn’t felt this peaceful for a long time.

“How about you? How are you feeling?” His voice still sounds small, strained. He’s not sure if it’s from the injury or from Daisy’s breath tickling the side of his neck.

“Angry,” she says after a moment, picking at the covers. “Sad. Mostly angry.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

They stay like that, holding each other in the dark for who knows how long. It’s the most time he’s spent with Daisy since she left Shield. He pays attention to her breathing, her heartbeat, the smell of her hair. 

He feels himself start to drift, the world becoming muted and softer as the drugs start kicking in. He can’t muster the energy to open his eyes, but he’s pretty sure she presses a kiss to his temple and holds him a little closer.

When he wakes up she’s gone without a trace.

 

 

 

The fourth time he’s packed a picnic just in case. 

It’s a warm night. He’s got his windows rolled all the way down. He’s staking out a van, reportedly her base of operations, binoculars trained on the windshield.

“Who are we waiting for?” she asks, right next to his ear. He nearly jumps out of his skin, cursing. She doesn’t laugh, which is kind of her, just smiles indulgently and goes around to the passenger seat.

He watches her slide in next to him, drinking in the sight of her. She looks so much like that woman he met years ago, the one making podcasts out of her van, a homeless orphan taking on the whole world and winning.

“This is nice, AC. Brings back good memories. Wish I could stay longer.”

“I’ve been looking for you.”

“I know.”

Their fingers brush as he hands her the data. “All the information is right here. Some of it you might know already, but I want you to have everything.”

“Aren’t you going to get in trouble for this?”

“If they find out.”

“Will they find out?”

“Not a chance. Can you stay long?”

“What?”

“Do you have to leave right away, or do you have a few minutes?”

“Uh, I can stay a little while. What’s up?”

He reaches into the back seat and grabs the freezer bag.

“I brought us something.”

“You brought a picnic?” Coulson smiles and starts unpacking. “I can’t believe this. Coulson, seriously. How did you know I would show up?”

“Just a feeling.” He doesn’t tell her that he’s packed the same thing three nights running.

They eat together and it’s like before, when he used to cook for her. Grilled cheese, soup, lunches and late nights at the Playground.

Something buzzes and Daisy looks down at her watch.

“Mack’s on his way back.”

“That sounds right, he’s due to check in.”

“I should go.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of them move. 

Eventually she reaches for him and pulls him into an awkward hug over the centre console.

“Coulson, just… be safe, okay?” 

She’s close and her hair is longer now, tickling his jaw.

He kisses her.

It’s not like their undercover kiss at the party. She’s gentle with him in a way he didn’t expect, cradling his face and opening his mouth slowly under her lips. Her hair is soft, so soft between his fingers.

Another buzz and Daisy breaks the kiss. “Shit. He’s almost here. Coulson, I have to go. I’ll see you again soon - give me two days.” 

She presses another tender kiss to his mouth, one hand resting on his chest.

He watches her disappear and wonders how long this has been going on.


End file.
